And I was getting ready to sit down + write you all those e-mails + I feel like I can’t send ’em now ’cause I honestly don’t wanna pump any sad chemicals into that poor thing’s developing little brain… You’re so relentlessly happy and I never knew how you did it but Dad’s a moody shit, like me, and if you’re going to push out another first-world consumer of the global élite, I at least don’t want them being all fuckin’ pumped full of SSRIs all the time… although that’s probably inevitable these days, isn’t it.

I guess I’ll have to wait another 9 months to hit Send.